Fantasy The MPC Rushes Story, Cont.

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve knew Lisbeth was right. About the Nexus. About the voice calling after them. About the job. But she didn't care.


"On his own? ON HIS OWN?" Her voice was strangled and strange as she spat the words at her friend. "Did we leave you on your own in the tunnel with Thanatos? Is this how we treat each other? Don't we mean more to each other than that? We can't leave him! We can't!"


Her knees gave way and she sunk to the ground, face in her hands.


"I can't..." she whispered.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

A slap echoed off the dank alley walls. Lisbeth stood over the kneeling form of Genevieve, hand still raised.


"What do we mean to each other?" she growled, her voice laced with bitterness. She choked back a sob. "What's my favorite food? What's Blott's favorite color? Does Altamonte have any siblings? What music does he like? Is he a morning person? Does he like dogs? What kind of books does he like to read? We don't know a God-damned thing about each other. We're just a bunch of freaks all swept up in the same fate, enjoying the rush of playing at being heroes while the fucking fate of worlds hangs in the balance. And we treat it like a game, solving puzzles and following clues like an adventure story. Well, this isn't a fairy tale. We all - all of us - need to accept the fact that any one of us could die at any moment."


Her hands fell to her sides, and she seemed to sag. Her shoulders shook as her hands balled into trembling fists.


"Even so... Do you think I want to do this?" she whispered, tears cresting her eyes to fall in glistening trails down her cheeks, "You think I want to leave Altamonte behind?! I tried to bring him back from the dead if you recall, and I did that for you. Do you think that if there was even a sliver of hope to get back there and save him that I wouldn't be jumping at the chance?! So get up and pull yourself together, because, God damn it, Genevieve, we don't have a choice."

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve raised a hand to her stinging cheek, her mouth open in indignation as Lisbeth seethed above her. She stood slowly, coming toe to toe with Lisbeth. Tears still welled in her eyes, and a muscle in her cheek twitched with the effort of holding back her rage.


"If you think that favorite colors and dog preferences are what make us who we are, then you're right, Lisbeth," she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and dangerous. "We don't know a God-damned thing about each other."


She shot William and Blott--both standing awkwardly behind Lisbeth--a cold glare then turned her back on all of them and started down the alley.


"Let's go," she barked, not bothering to wipe away the tears flowing unchecked down her face.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth swallowed her shame, where it continued to burn in her gut. With one sleeve she wiped the trails from her cheeks and followed after Genevieve. Her friend might never forgive her for the harsh words she had said, no matter the cruel seed of truth in them. They had only met the previous day, as unbelievable as that seemed, and already she may have broken their relationship beyond repair.


While it may have been the quickest, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

 

[UCBooties]

William stood trying to take stock while Lisbeth and Genevieve argued at the end of the alley. He could not re-open the doorway to try to save Black Iron House. It seemed that Black Iron House was beyond him now. There was something, a familiar scent or feeling, itching at the back of his mind, something nearby, but he couldn't place it just now...


He put it aside, it would have to wait. He felt very alone and very, very far from home.


That would have to wait too.


Someone was coming around the corner. They were certainly not at their best. William opened his hand and closed it again, expecting to feel the familiar weight of a blade. Instead he felt nothing. All his weapons, all his tools, all his books and potions and traps... Gone. All of it.


But it was too late to turn back. He squared his shoulders and followed Genevieve towards whoever they were about to meet.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Huddled in the shadows at the end of the alley Lisbeth saw her: a petite young woman, slightly shorter than she, with long, dark hair and almond-shaped eyes that, in Frostine's world, would have marked her as a denizen of the Kingdom of Air. But this wasn't Frostine's world, this was some version of Shanghai in the year 1930. So this girl was Chinese, Lisbeth corrected herself. Lisbeth quickly looked her up and down. Curling black hair, ivory dress, Mary Jane shoes, blue handbag. She certainly didn't look out of the ordinary. Perhaps this wasn't the person they were supposed to meet after all. Lisbeth took a breath and donned what she hoped was a cheerful smile before approaching the stranger.


"Yes, hello," Lisbeth began, speaking slowly in her best approximation of a Russian accent and picking her words carefully, "Sorry to disturb you. We are travelers and it seems we are a bit lost."

 

[Marianne]

The woman focused her eyes on the four people that came out the alleyway and straightened her shoulders for a confrontation. One of them spoke for the four of them, "Yes, hello," she had said and her thick accent was strange. She couldn't distinguish where it came from but she could understand her words and the meaning behind them being in the alleyway. "Lost? You're lost, well come with me then, please." Her attempts at English felt futile, it's been a while since she used it, but she knew what she was saying and doing. Immediately, she kept walking in the direction she was headed before hand, nudging the group along with her hand, so they may quickly follow her before people actually woke up. Foreigners at this time was a rare occasion, most of the foreigners that Shanghai received were rich and no where near the quieter part of town. Daisy, that being her name, pulled open the door to what appeared to be a shop, a block away from their location, and held it open for the group to follow. "Please sit down, I will be right with you shortly," she ordered, gesturing at whatever table they preferred. Once all of them did, she would rush to the backroom, never once turning the sign from Close to Open. Five minutes later she came out with four cups of warm milk, hoping it would help them ease whatever may be stressing them since they all looked uneasy. Smudges of dried tears, unease, something else, and frustration etched on their faces. Daisy placed the four cups down before she pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the table before asking, "What, um, your names? What are your names?" She tried.

​

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth followed the young woman into the... shop, she supposed. There was a sign hanging in the window, although she couldn't read what it said. The interior was dim, but as her eyes adjusted she could see that there were several tables scattered about the room. Was it perhaps a cafe of some sort?


"Please sit down, I will be right with you shortly," the girl told them as she disappeared into the back room.


Lisbeth took a seat at the nearest table, lowering her hood as she sat down. The others followed suit, Genevieve taking the seat furthest from Lisbeth. It seemed to Lisbeth that the gypsy had put a bit more space between her and the table than was strictly necessary. From all outward appearances, Lisbeth Walpurgis did not exist to Genevieve in that moment, and Lisbeth herself seemed to find her own hands in her lap quite fascinating.


They sat in awkward silence for several minutes until at last the young woman reappeared carrying a tray with four cups. She placed one before each of them, and the comforting scent of warm milk reached Lisbeth's nostrils.


"What, um, your names? What are your names?" the girl asked, sitting down at the head of the table.


There was something oddly familiar about all of this. It was the smell, she realized: the milk, the shop, even something about the girl herself. A soap perhaps? It was like Lisbeth had been there before, though she knew it was impossible. She looked around at her companions and hesitated. She had been so certain of herself, of her leadership, and look what had happened. They'd lost Altamonte and a rift had opened between her and Genevieve, perhaps irreparably.


She took the warm glass in her hands, staring deep into its contents as though some answer might be there, and hoped that someone else might speak first.

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Genevieve felt a tingling sense of danger in the back of her mind as they set off behind the woman, but she was too numb to care. She followed her through the deserted pre-dawn alleyways of Shanghai, seeing nothing of the sleeping city. Instead, the images playing before her eyes were of the Nexus--a series of increasingly savage possibilities of what the Knights would do to Fitz. Closing her eyes didn't shut out the thoughts, and, in her guilt, she wasn't sure she wanted them to stop anyway. So she let the scenes of Altamonte's death roll over her, bringing fresh waves of silent tears with each new horror.


It wasn't until they were escorted into a small shop that Genevieve looked up, almost startled by the presence of the others. Everyone had taken a seat at a small table. With both hands she wiped the remaining tears from her face and seated herself at the end of the table, as far from the others as possible, pushing her chair back and crossing her arms.


Out of the corner of her eye she surveyed Lisbeth. From the moment they'd met in the Sitting Room, Genevieve had felt a connection with this Writer. She'd never questioned that they were meant to meet. Though they'd known each other for barely two days, she had treasured the friendship they had built. That she thought they had built. But in that alley she'd been forced to choose between Lisbeth and Altamonte--between their mission and the man she cared deeply for. And here she was, in some shop in Shanghai, making no effort to find a way back to save him. She'd made her choice. And she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive Lisbeth or herself for that.


The woman was asking them for their names, but Genevieve simply stared down at the cup in front of her.

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott followed along silently. The awkward was so thick in the air, she was almost choking on it. Still, she took in the sights as they passed. The sun was slowly rising, lending a golden edge to the buildings and streets.


She supposed the shop was nice as well. A cafe, she assumed, by the vague smell of tea and milk. Or, she corrected herself, the milk smell was coming from the milk. She accepted her cup with a smile as warm as she could make it. It was warm in her hands, and the warmth slowly traveled up her arms.


Her little group had seen its share of troubles, both before and after they collected together. Perhaps this one would be the one to rend them apart. Her heart clenched uncomfortably but she shoved the feeling down roughly, shuttering it away with other feelings long since ignored. Healthy? No. But required to muddle through life.


She wondered if anyone was going to bother to answer their current host. The caretaker of this little shop seemed normal enough, and Blott wasn't sure a talking crow was the best way to start things off.


So the silence continued.

 

[Mr Nope]

Suddenly taps echo in the shop, distinct taps in constant paces growing louder, yet none of the foreign visitors can determine where the taps originate from nor what is seemingly approaching.


Mist and steam resembling spices that none can articulate cloud the atmosphere where the foreigners sit, a looming silhouette appears with a pair of crystallized opals peering through a bamboo and metallic mempo.

The unrecognizable and massive shop owner gruffly speaks, "Greetings guests, I hope my assistant has been cordial..."


Abruptly the shop owner diverts his attention to the Master, "William, my, you have grown from being a little soy boy..."


The strange and towering owner chuckles sarcastically, "Aah yes... Whenever he used to get a cut or fall from playing, we used to say he bled soy... Hahahahaha!"

 

[Mr Nope]

The masked owner peers strongly at the others in the room, "Aah Genevieve, from the House of Moulin, nice to see you visiting again, you would be surprised who remembers you.."

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

The sound of her name--of her family name, one she rarely shared--shook Genevieve out of her own thoughts. She narrowed her eyes at the hulking, masked figure. Nothing about him struck her as familiar, and this wasn't a person who would be easily forgotten.


"Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you know of us?"

 

[Mr Nope]

While sipping his warm milk and grumbling to himself, the masked owner grins and veers swiftly in Genevieve's eyesight responding gently, "I am merely a Curator of things..."

 

[UCBooties]

The silence in the tea shop turned brittle and William froze at the boisterous man's words. Shards of truth pricked at him like broken glass in sand that he was sifting through his hands.


William Blackiron had no past. William Blackiron should appear as a completely normal human in this world. According to this new man, neither of these things was true. This raised a thousand questions but only one was at the forefront of William's mind.


Did they need to run?


William calmed the instinct for flight. Now was the time for observation, analysis, rational action. They needed to get their feet under them, get back on track. Losing Fitz was a blow, and even William had wherewithal enough to see the rift growing between Lisbeth and Gen. If they tore off in a panic now, with now time to absorb or plan they were done for.


William took another moment to look over their host. William knew of thirty eight creatures that could read minds or otherwise steal or manipulate memories. He did not have the tools needed to kill any of them.


The Master of Black Iron House stood and gave a slight bow. "I apologize that we have been reticent to speak," he directed his answer to the girl who had first asked their names, "We are newly arrived and somewhat out of sorts. I am William Blackiron, formerly of Black Iron House. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He indicated each of his companions in turn, "This is Lisbeth Walpurgis, Writer, this is Blott, Artist, and this is Genevieve Moulin," he considered his next words carefully, "a woman of many talents."


He took a sip of the hot drink he had been served and took a moment to relish how ordinary it was. Then he finally turned to their host.


"I thank you both for your hospitality so early in the morning. It seems you have us at a disadvantage. Were you, perhaps, expecting us?"

 

[Mr Nope]

The masked stranger pauses, an unusual silence grabs everyone's attention. The owner removes his mempo and unravels his shemagah...

The beastly owner speaks,"I was certainly expecting something, evidently someone in this room has it..."


The owner raises his hand as his cloak sways summoning the assistant to appear and asks everyone, "Who wants egg rolls!?"

 

[ArtBlott]

Well, there went normal, right out the window. Blott swirled the milk around in her cup. She should have been surprised. In fact, she wanted to be surprised. But any form of shock was just not forthcoming. Time travel, hell, magic houses, the Nexus, some evil knights, a lost party member, and now an anthropomorphic panda. Whatever part of her that handled surprise was all excited-out.


That did not mean, however, she was up to fighting a bear, especially without any paper at hand. Hopefully, he was friendly. He seemed kind enough, with his offering of food (which she passed on), but hadn't he just mentioned he was expecting them? Who told him they were coming? She looked up at him pensively. At least she didn't have to worry about if the food or drink was poisoned.

 

[Marianne]

Daisy hadn't minded how long it would've taken for them to answer her, and she nodded her head in response to his gracious words.


As if on cue, her master waved his hands after he revealed himself, something she hadn't expected but handled perfectly, as he announced: "Who wants egg rolls?!" Daisy then rushed to the windows, closing the blinds immediately before shutting the curtains. After she had done so, she flipped the lights on and then powered her legs to the back of the shop, returning with a sign that had said: On Holiday, placing it at the foot of the window. Now that was done, she did as she was asked. Heading to the back of the room to prepare the food. Egg rolls wasn't something one can make without time and patience, so she opened the freezer to prepare the ones she had prepared the day before. The oven took a while to reach its required warmth, so she began to arrange the rolls, delicately for the dough was rather thin, on the pan. After delicately arranging them with care so as to not to rip the very thin rolls, she checked the oven. The heat radiating from the cracked oven indicated it was ready, so she opened it and stuffed the tray in. Setting her timer on a piece of paper before walking back into the dining area. "It will be done soon," she announced at the door way, her accent still thick. Since it was only a few egg rolls, it shouldn't take too long.
​

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Lisbeth raised an eyebrow at their host's appearance, but didn't comment. A pandaeran? No, they probably weren't called that in this world. Why did she keep thinking of things in terms of Frostine's world? She had spent a lot of time there recently, and she was tired and stressed. That had to be it. She rubbed at her eyes behind her glasses.


"Someone in this room has what?" she asked, dropping the fake accent as she latched onto the phrase the creature had uttered, "What exactly were you expecting, and how do you know who some of us are?"

 

[UCBooties]

Form does not appear related to celestial bodies, likely not a varient of lycanthropy. Iron nails in the doorway and in the threshold, can't be fey either. He hides his appearance so this condition is not normal for this world, may present social or physical danger. Likely muscle density and frame place strength in the range of a grizzly bear. At least I'm probably faster. We'll probably need the Artist or the Writer produce something if this turns ugly. I'll need to buy them time.





William looked over the strange bear man again.


Whatever Blott and Lisbeth cook up had better fire large bullets.





William gave their host a wan smile. "Egg rolls sound lovely."

 

[ArtBlott]

Blott inhaled the steam of the milk, bidding her mind to unwind itself, just a little. Everyone was overwhelmed and hurting. Except William, she noted with some curiosity. He was casing the place. For what, she didn't know, but the sign on his home had said 'Monster Hunter.' Perhaps this panda-beast qualified. In fact, she was fairly sure of it. Perhaps the Black Iron House had taken them to the wrong Shanghai? The wrong world? Of course, any one of them, save the apparently Written William, could be from an Earth different from her own.


Genevieve and Lisbeth were right, in their own angry ways. They didn't know much about each other. She looked at the panda-beast carefully. He wasn't looking at her. Good. Maybe she could cheat a bit. "My...favorite color is purple?" she tried.

 

[Lisbeth Walpurgis]

Their host waved a dismissive hand as what was likely intended to be a genial grin crossed his face.


"There will be time for questions later," he told them, "Suffice it to say that I am in the business of knowing things. For the moment I should like to extend my hospitality, such as it is, to you all until such time as you have recovered from your recent traumas. It does not require even my talents to know that you are all a bit worse for wear, and it would behoove you to rest while you can. Time is not on your side, I'm afraid."


Lisbeth sighed quietly. How could she possibly relax? First they had lost Arkadious, then Alaster, and now Altamonte... She glanced at William.


"Good thing his name starts with W."


"My... favorite color is purple?" said Blott beside her.


The words were like salt in her wounds. Those awful things she had said in the alley... But what else could she have done? Genevieve had been inconsolable, but there was simply no way for them to save Fitzgerald that Lisbeth could see. Better to give Genevieve something else to fixate on, someone to blame other than herself, and so Lisbeth had taken on the role of the villain. She had shouldered that burden before; this time was no different, she told herself...


And yet...


There was still something she needed to do, a vow that she had made herself: to surround this heart with kindness.


"Aqua," she said, "... aqua blue."

 

[Genevieve Moulin]

Until we've recovered? Genevieve thought bitterly. I would be here forever.


There was no recovering from Altamonte's loss. She would swallow it, and she would go on, like she had after every other loss. After Tristan, twice--when she thought she'd left him stranded in Chicago 1893 and again when she discovered his betrayal. And just like then, the questions would haunt her: what could she have done? How could she have changed things? No, she would not recover.


And now her companions were sharing their favorite colors. The words stung. She wasn't sure her heart could take any more loss; she wasn't sure she wanted to know them better.


She hugged her arms closer to her body and without looking up whispered, "Emerald."

 

[Mr Nope]

"As I have said, I am a Curator..." The owner replied.


Instantly, the Curator clasps his pawish hands, extends what appears to be index fingers and draws them apart in a symmetrical fashion. The mystical clouds of incense and spices return as a small dining table manifests in the center of the room among the guests. The table is adorned with designs from the Edo period, dishes and chalices are evenly placed as each seating arrangement is marked articulately with the name of each visitor etched into an eggroll's wrapper, one for the Writer, one for the Gypsy, one for Mr. Blackiron, and one for Blott.


"Your meal, will replenish you for example if you are an artist and out of paper, after finishing your meal, you will notice that what you need has been restored."


Fiercely the owner admonishes them, "The meal will give you sustenance, restore your strength, and address the needs pertaining to your abilities or gifts. This is not an opportunity to make a wish or magic tricks!"


The Curator pauses and looks down at his meal intently, "I am Mr. Nope, enjoy your meal..."

 

[UCBooties]

William carefully unwrapped his egg roll and contemplated the steam rising from the crispy crust. For a moment he blankly considered the chopsticks that had been set at his place, then with a small shrug he picked up the egg roll and took an experimental bite.


This was not what he had been expecting when he had heard the words "egg roll." The last time he had eaten an "egg roll," it had been at a Caladari street stand and it had been somewhere between an seafood omelette and a crepe. He had to admit that, at least texture-wise, the Shanghai variant had a lot to recommend it.


He chewed slowly, savoring the meal. So much of the food he ate in Black Iron House was mismatched, blended together from a hundred thousand cuisines with ingredients from countless worlds. It was nice to eat something simple, something that had been prepared with intent, instead of whatever random nutritional combination the House's inscrutable algorithms produced.


As he finished the last bite he took a moment to breath deeply and calm himself. True to the strange proprietor's word he felt more rested than he had since the first jump from the shores of the Lake of Unshed Tears. Some of the feeling that he was slowly unspooling left him and he no longer felt quite so much like a watch that was being slowly but surely over-wound.


William closed his eyes and gently prodded the place at the back of his mind where his awareness of Black Iron House usually resided. No matter how far he went from the House on any world he could always sense it, the direction in which it lay, the urgency with which he needed to carry out his tasks.


Nothing.


So the Panda-man had been telling the truth. No miracles here.


In a way it was comforting. He needed not concern himself with Black Iron House for the time being. However much he might wish to reach for it, he could never reach what was not there. Better not to rely on it then, better to be sure.


Still, something niggled at the back of his mind. Something made the base of his neck itch, and his nose twitch as though he were just about to catch a whiff of a familiar smell. It seemed strongest when he was near the Writer, yet maddeningly out of reach.


William shook his head. Put it aside.


Instead he turned to their host. "Thank you, most kindly, for the meal, Mr. Nope."


He glanced at his strange companions. The rest they needed, the chance to heal they wanted, the fellowship they hoped to repair. How fragile they were, spinning between the gears of countless uncaring worlds, all of them in danger. How they must wish for reconciliation, for forgiveness, for a stab at real friendship.


His eyes turned hard and his voice steely, "Now tell us why we're here."


His favorite color? Who knew if he had ever even had one?


Put it aside. Time to hunt.